COMMENTARY – In the immediate and extended aftermath of last year’s marathon bombings, we bore witness to the heroic actions of first responders, the incidental senselessness of such a gutless and cowardly attack and the powerful union of a running and a societal community.

This year, the 118th running of the Boston Marathon will arguably be the most culturally significant road race in the history of our country. Yet, as a participant, it is impossible to think about this race without remembering what happened during the last. And I cannot possibly consider any personal achievement without first considering the pain.

Last April, Rebekah Gregory had traveled from Texas to meet her New York boyfriend, Pete DiMartino, and watch his mom finish the race. It was to be an exciting trip because she was going to introduce her 6-year-old son, Noah, to her long-distance companion for the very first time. They were standing less than 10 feet away from where the first bomb went off.

“We had a group of nine with us,” she told me. “Pete, Noah and I were the closest.”

The force of the blow simultaneously shattered her left leg and her life. Confusion and chaos erupted. There was blood and bone everywhere. She frantically screamed and searched for her son and listened through ruptured eardrums for any response. Miraculously, Noah escaped with minor injuries. But through a riotous and smoky haze, Rebekah Gregory heard a first responder say, “This is really, really, bad,” and she immediately knew she was not as lucky.

“I probably should've died that day,” she said. “I believe I didn’t because my purpose hadn’t been fulfilled. When I was first laying on a ventilator in the ICU, I couldn't talk to my mom because I had tubes down my throat. She gave me a piece of paper and I wrote to her ‘God is not finished with me yet.’ And I firmly believe that with all of my heart.”

With every reason to run toward the darkness, Rebekah Gregory has instead chosen to journey toward the light.

“I think had this not happened, Pete and I wouldn't be getting married,” she said. “Not this year at least. We have seen each other at our worst. He dropped everything to move from New York to Texas and take care of me. We have gone through things this year that most people don't go through in a lifetime. I think after this, our bond is pretty much unbreakable.”

The couple was married earlier this month and has seen firsthand, as we did, that for every one evil and cowardly delinquent, there are thousands of decent people.

Page 2 of 2 - “We have seen the hearts and souls of America,” Gregory said. “And at 26 years old, I have learned what it really means to live and appreciate every single moment. We are so thankful to each and every person that roots for our family. It keeps us going.”

Incredibly, she has never considered herself a victim.

“I have never asked, ‘Why me,’” she said. “Everyone has to go through things and I don't think our trials are greater than anyone else’s. There is no way of changing what happened. So instead of asking, ‘Why me?’ I look for all the lessons I have learned from this.”

Despite her remarkable optimism and outlook, one year later Rebekah Gregory still has a long road to travel.

“I have wanted to amputate my leg since day one,” she said. “The doctors wanted me to try limb salvage. But 16 surgeries and a zillion procedures later, my leg still doesn't function. And we are finally getting to the point where my doctor will allow my amputation to be done. My leg hasn't worked since April and there is no sense in trying to save something that doesn't want to be saved. After all, a leg is just a leg. But my life is so much more than that.”

So here’s the thing. It’s difficult for me to imagine that 26.2 miles are going to bring any sort of closure to the families of Martin Richard and Krystle Campbell and Lu Lingzi and Sean Collier. And it is impossible to envision that the completion of this historic course is going to aid in the recovery of Dic Donohue and Jeff Bauman and Heather Abbott and Rebekah Gregory.

But if I could offer one thing to every victim, I would offer this:

There is no force greater than that of a single-minded group of runners. And for this one day, I hope you feel the weight of your burdens lifted by the strength of 36,000 pairs of arms. And I wish, with all my heart, that for one day your struggles are lessened by the reverberating sounds of the unified foot strikes from Hopkinton to Boston.

In the grand scheme of your past year, I recognize that this is a very small and symbolic gesture. But I promise that it is delivered to you straight from the heart of Boston.

John Reilly is a graduate of Stonehill College and the University of Notre Dame. He lives in Sharon with his wife, daughter and son.